Isaiah snorted when he laughed as Adele frisbee-tossed a piece of mouldy cheese loaf at him, it hitting the couch cushion he was crouched behind. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna hit a target as small as me, Adele!” The delight in his voice was plain and apparent and the giggles that were coming from Adele was something that Isaiah held dear.
He loved his friend dearly and hearing her truly enjoying herself made him delighted, even if she was trying to nail him in the face with mouldy bread. Grabbing a slice of sourdough from his stash behind the cushion, Isaiah lobbed it over his makeshift barrier.
The shriek-laugh and following giggle from Adele made Isaiah pop his head over the top of the cushion right as Adele frisbee-tossed another piece of cheese loaf at him, hitting him square in the face.
“Got you!”
“Ah! Right in the face!” Isaiah laughed. There was bread everywhere in his apartment, but the laughs and the fun were totally worth it. He felt happy; he felt content; he felt like the world was right for once.
Matthias was on the phone with his mother. He thought that Aurelia had fallen asleep hours ago; he thought that it was the best time to quietly talk to his mother about what he’d been doing, what they’d been doing.
“No, Mom, I— no, I do think I’m doing the right thing,” he paused, his mouth screwing up a little, “No. Mom, no, listen to me, please, just listen to me.” Anyone that knew him would know that he was starting to get frustrated; that not being listened to was one surefire way to get him agitated. His voice was getting a little bit louder, a fraction more forceful, though still stayed in the range of ‘quiet’. “I know it’s not what you want for me, but this is what I want for myself.” He clenched his jaw as his mother started talking again, loud enough it could be heard from the receiver into the empty room. “No. I love them both. You’re not changing my mind.” Matthias closed his eyes as his mother started to talk more forcefully. “No, Mom, no I— no, listen to me. Listen to me. I’m— if you’re not going to listen I’m going to hang up.”
More rapid talking from the receiver.
“I’m hanging up now,” he said, “No, I told you I would. I’m hanging up. Bye, Mom.”
He let out a measured breath, rolled his shoulders — trying to release some of the tension built up in them in a benign manner — and looked to the doorway feeling that there was someone there before he saw them. “Oh, I…,” his words petered out, “How long have you been standing there, Aurelia?”
This is literally so Extra™ and I love all of you.
Em
[ Kiran x Matías ]
“Why doesn’t it?!” Matías was frustrated. He was hurt. He was angry. “Why can’t we have one fucking victory without being handed a tragedy immediately after?!” His hands were shaking; knuckles white from clenching his fists so tight.
He needed to keep control of his emotions — he needed to remain a pillar of calm for the others in the encampment.
But it was just so difficult.
They had finally found a drinkable source — finally been given some respite from the constant run/hide cycle they were stuck in; rest from the cat and mouse game they were playing with the government,
But it didn’t last. When did it ever last?
Kiran’s voice was level, but not unemotional — she felt the losses of their comrades from the raid just the same as Matías did — and she said, “It just doesn’t.”
Matías glared at her. “Get out.” These were his charges. These were people he had been responsible for that had been killed. This wasn’t something that Kiran was going to understand… or was it? She’d had blood on her hands before. He swiped papers off his desk. “Get out!”
[ Nat x Val ]
“It doesn’t work like that,” Natalia said the words quiet and evenly.
“But why doesn’t it?” Valentijn leaned his head on Natalia’s shoulder, setting into the loveseat even further so that his tall frame could cuddle into their much smaller one. “Like, I get that it doesn’t but why?”
Natalia didn’t have an answer, so she didn’t say anything.
It didn’t stop Valentijn from continuing to talk. “I don’t think that it’s fair.” He threaded their fingers together. “It’s really not fair. You’re so sweet, and great, and I love you so much.” Petting the back of their hand with his thumb, Valentijn continued, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you know that? And before you even think it — I don’t care how much danger that puts me in.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in their scent; enjoyed their company.
“Nothing will change that,” he said, “Nothing at all will ever change that.”
[ Renee x Isaiah ]
“It doesn’t work like that,” Renee’s words were short, almost bored.
“Well you don’t know that,” Isaiah said defiantly, even though he knew better than that; he knew that she would likely have a better understanding of things than he ever would. He tapped his phone’s screen, deadset on ignoring his problems ( and his embarrassment ) through drowning his attention in articles on the internet.
Avani
~ STAR WARS AU ~
[ Grace x Isaiah ]
Isaiah had spent months getting close to the daughter of one of the Empire’s admirals. He wasn’t about to stop his ruse of good little soldier-turned-friend just because of a stupid disagreement over how the Force worked. But he just— he couldn’t stop himself from correcting her once they were out from under the eyes of the commanders. “No, Gracey, it doesn’t work like that.”
“But—”
“No, believe me. I know.” Isaiah had a smidge of a mischievous smile on his lips in preparation for his next words. His fingers brushing against her shoulders — breath catching just that little bit at his unintentional contact — he said, “The Force is something that connects everything in the galaxy; that’s what those wack-asses at Jedha were in on, and that’s what Jedi think—” he caught himself and corrected quickly, “—thought. What the Jedi thought.”
[ Clary x D’Artagnan ]
“No,” D’Artagnan choked out, “no it doesn’t work like that. You- you can’t just- you can’t just destroy an entire planet.” He blinked rapidly, it doing nothing to stop his tears from falling; them rolling fat and thick down his cheeks. “You can’t!” His voice cracked. He fell to the floor, bony knees banging with bruising force against the hard metal tiles. “This isn’t— this isn’t—!”
He became acutely aware of the kernel of hollowness sitting where his heart is; acutely aware of the feeling of being, suddenly, one of very few.
His tears didn’t stop, but his words died.
He stared at the floor, unblinking.
[ Holly x Elijah ]
Elijah laughed, gentle and more as a jump of his shoulders than any actual noise. “It doesn’t work like that — the Force,” he said once he’d composed himself again, “It’s more like… hmm.” He bit his bottom lip. “It’s more like a string that connects everything in the galaxy; unseen but ever-present.”
[ Arya x Lukas ]
“It doesn’t work like that. You don’t get patched up from something this serious and immediately go back out into the field.” Arya ( skillfully, Lukas would admit ) pushed on the puncture wound in his trapezius, causing Lukas to let out a hiss of pain.
“Understood. But the Alliance needs me, Arya.” Lukas settled back down into the cot in a controlled movement — one that betrayed that his fractured rib and various other wounds were hindering him. “There needs to be commanders being pillars. If we crumble, what foundation do the others have?”
Arya shot him a look, punctuated with a twitch of her eyebrow. “They have Clary.”
“And Clary has me.”
[ Damien x Parys ]
“No, no, no! Damien!” Parys jaunted through the inner workings of their newly stolen ship — a YV-series light freighter — until he reached the cockpit. “It doesn’t handle that way, y’gotta be a little more gentle in her handling. Like this.” Parys jumped into the co-pilot seat, flipping switches and hitting buttons as he primed it for secondary piloting. If there was anything that Parys knew — it was how to finesse a stolen ship.
“Don’t pound on her controls like a drunkard on a door; be gentle.” He laughed, then added mockingly, “Or just ‘use the Force’, if you believe in that bullshit.”
Becks
[ Rosalie x Addison ]
“That’s not how business works, Rosalie.” Addison tapped out an email on her phone as she sat in a window seat at the coffee shop that her and Rosalie had decided to stop in. “It doesn’t just stop because I’m on vacation.” She hit send and gently placed her phone down on the small table, face up and unafraid of sharing the face with her wife.
“You should be paying attention to me,” Rosalie said, pout clear in her voice and plain on her face.
Reaching for Rosalie’s hand, and then threading their fingers together, Addison smiled and said, “I will be paying a lot of attention to you.”
“I’m not leaving you here, Grace!” Isaiah screamed the words — the ship was fire and death and nothing more than an approaching tomb for those left on it still. “I love you; I’ve got to save you.” The blood on his hands made his whole body shake — this is bad, this is bad, this is bad — Isaiah was no medic, but he knew that Grace wouldn’t have much time left if she kept bleeding the way she was.
He’d seen so much death in such a short time.
There was nothing that he wanted to see less than the image of the woman he loved wounded and bleeding — bleeding too much. Not that Isaiah was in much better shape; he couldn’t see out of one of his eyes ( too much blood? Or too much damage? ) and he could feel the sting of gashes and the ache of fractures already.
They just needed to survive. They just needed to get off this ship and into an escape pod and make their way back to 5251977. They were going to make it. But the world was darkening and there alarms were blaring and—
Isaiah fell down the rest of the way to the floor of the ship. He hauled Grace into his lap, the protest of certainly broken ribs and the mix of their blood seemed like nothing compared to knowing that death was around the corner.
“Grace,” Isaiah said, “Grace remember the declaration of the Rebellion? Remember what we’re fighting for?” His voice wavered, “We, the Rebel Alliance, do therefore in name — and by the authority — of the—“ a sob choked its way out of Isaiah’s chest, “of the free beings of the Galaxy solemnly publish and declare our intentions: To fight—“
Grace hid her face in Isaiah’s chest as he recited the declaration.
Isaiah watched with one-eyed vision — blurred and bloody — as the planet’s surface came ever closer, staring down what would be their death. He continued his reciting. It had given him comfort when he was scared on the base; when he was a child; when he wasn’t…
Isaiah pressed a last kiss to Grace’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be the death of me?”
~ STAR WARS AU ~
[ Grace x Isaiah ]
“Oh, don’t say that,” Isaiah said, fixing his rebel pilot jumpsuit as he did, “I’m sure there plenty of other things that’ll be the death of you.” A bright smile showed that he wasn’t being serious. The same bright smile faltered when he heard the announcement for all available pilots to get into the air as soon as they could — the Empire was looming, and they needed to do everything they could to make sure that the rebellion lived to fight another day.
Isaiah gave her a quick kiss — just a peck — and said, “Love you; wish me luck!” before jogging off to get into an X-wing with his astromech.
[ Clary x D’Artagnan ]
D’Artagnan’s eyes carried something that they hadn’t previous to the destruction of Alderaan. A deep sadness, and a deeper anger.
It was something that Clary carried in her too.
“Promise me that we’ll both go down swinging if we do. We’ll do what Rogue One did — aide the rebellion even in our last moments.” D’Artagnan swallowed, tears glossing his eyes as the memory of receiving the news of the destruction of Alderaan resurfaced, but he continued, “We’ll make sure our planets’ people will be avenged.”
[ Holly x Elijah ]
Elijah said the words quietly to Holly, whispered in that way that teenagers did when they thought they were being sneaky, “‘Why do I feel you’re going to be the death of me’. That’s what Master Maghr-Sal said to us.”
Baal nodded in agreement, short but fast; eyes open wide. “But I heard that’s what Master Kenobi said to Master Skywalker!”
“That can’t be right — Master Skywalker is supposed to be the Chosen One; he’d never kill Master Kenobi.”
“They told you I was dead and you believed them?!” Lukas couldn’t keep the anger ( couldn’t help the sharp pitch of hurt hid behind the volume of his voice ) out of his words. “Are you serious?!”
He clenched his fists. Unclenched them. Clenched them.
He dug his short nails into the flesh of his palm, digging and digging until he couldn’t feel the stab of pain in the skin — no doubt in Lukas’ mind that he was going to have bruising, if not thin lines of blood, where they cut in.
It wasn’t that Arya had believed the rumours that upset him.
It was that she had moved on. Discarded their memories together — their life together — as if…
As if it were nothing. As if he were nothing.
Lukas should have known. Thoughts sat bitter on his mind.
—I should have known, I should have known, I should have known.
But he’d believed that the goddess of love would have waited for him; waited until the ends of the mortal world for the god he’d believed ( foolishly, he told himself ) that she’d given her heart to just the same that he’d done for her.
Stupid.
He was stupid.
Lukas was proud, but he found himself having tears gather in his eyes, the prick of failure accumulating in his eyes. His face crumpled as his breathing staggered.
— was this how his mother felt each time that his father was caught?
“I—” the words choked him; stuck in his throat. “I thought you loved me.” He shook his head. “I guess it was just a game. ‘All is fair in love and war’, right? Betrayal is just another name of the game, isn’t it?”
When he released his fists, his fingers ached. His chest ached. His heart ached.
“Lose my email.” The words were quiet but firm. “If you don’t want me then I don’t want you.”
—If you won’t wait for me, then I won’t burn myself trying to keep you around.
[ clarice / d'artagnan ] :: “Not all of us can afford to be romantic.”
( “Not all of us can afford to be romantic.” )
D’Artagnan looked like he had been doused in cold water — was this truly what Clarice thought about him? Did she think that he cared about little else than romance — than some fun while he was young? He didn’t want to argue with her, he didn’t want to upset the fragile — like thin ice — balance of a friendship they had finally acquired.
“Je— j’suis désolé?” he said, feeling more like he should say it rather than feeling that he wanted to.
Looking to the floor, D’Artagnan tried English — tried to get more on her level than forcing her to use his mother tongue — tried to convey his thoughts. “I did not think that you— would afford romance,” he said, the phrasing awkward, but the intention wholehearted, “I think you would be given romance. Pour libre.”
— Par moi, j'douche tu dans la romance, dans l'amour, dans leur dévouement. Si seulement tu me laisser.
The thought itself scared him — he was venturing into a feeling that he knew wasn’t going to be returned by Clarice. He knew that she saw him as just an annoyance; as someone that was to be tolerated rather than enjoyed.
Sadness crossed his features.
He didn’t know how to fix this, and the right words weren’t coming to the forefront of his mind fast enough.
“T’sais, je donnerais-tu romance.” He played off the sudden confession with a laugh — light and easily mistaken for him just joking rather than being serious. His sad look being replaced with a smile. “T’sais! Oui?”
“I know I say this a lot, but…I love you.” [ ash & léon ]
Léon never tired of it — of hearing someone that he loved with his entire heart say that he loved him. “No,” he said, soft accent falling over the words, “no, don’t ever say you say it too much ever, okay?” He reached up and wrapped his arms around Ash’s neck — the three inches in difference between them the perfect amount ( or so Léon would say ) for what he wanted to do. Peering up at Ash through the curled fringe of his hair, Léon bit his lower lip, and flicked his eyes down to his husband’s mouth before closing the distance between them.
“I love you so much, Ash,” he said once they parted, voice low and humming; husky from the cigarettes that Léon insisted on smoking, “Je t’aime.”
